


What's Wrong?

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1981, Distrust, Fidelius Charms, First War with Voldemort, M/M, Marauders' Era, Post-Hogwarts, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>October 22nd, 1981. A cramped cottage, a slinking doubt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Wrong?

**Author's Note:**

> Week 16

Peter's head sits in the fireplace, flames crackling in his hair. He looks like a Jack-O-Lantern, fitting for the last week of October. "I think you should just talk to him," he says for the fifth time in half an hour.

"I don't think I can," Remus says, shooting him a look. "You keep telling me to talk to him but you never say how."

"Isn't that kind of your job? You're the one in love with him."

Remus groans and buries his face in his hands. _In love with him._ It used to be the truth, as simple as breathing. Him and Sirius, Sirius and him. Never one without the other. Now he spends his days pining in this stupid empty house, and Sirius spends them—well, Remus doesn't know anymore. He asks, but idle chatter about missions and interrogations doesn't tell him what he really wants to hear.

"Cheer up, mate." Peter turns his head, and it looks like a piece of wood is sticking into his ear. "He's due back any minute now, right? Ask him then. It'll be good for both of you."

"I don't even know what to ask him."

"Try 'what's wrong?' and see where you end up."

Remus snorts. "Sleeping on the couch, most likely." And his nightmares are getting worse, so he can expect to do more staring at the ceiling than sleeping. "Fine, I'll ask. I reserve rights to 'I told you so,' though. And I'm going to Floo you later to complain more." He says it lightly, as if this is nothing more than an hour's argument.

"Just so long as you wait until Thursday. I'll be moving."

"Oh, right." Remus squints into the fire. "How do you like your new hidey-hole?"

"It's all right. A bit small, but I guess that's fine, seeing as it's just me."

"Just you."

"Of course!"

"Don't lie, Peter." Remus shakes his finger. "Last time I came 'round, you had someone else's cloak in the hall."

Peter opens and closes his mouth for a moment. "I had a date," he manages finally.

Remus nods. "That's what I thought. You could have just said so." He has to smile a little at Peter's expression. "I'm happy for you. You're always so stressed, you know? This could be good. Relaxing."

Peter shrugs, and his shoulders appear above the logs. "Could be." Somewhere on his end, something trills. "Er, sorry," he says, looking relieved, "but there's someone else waiting for the Floo."

Remus waves a hand just as he hears a knock on the door. "Go, go. It's probably James. Sirius just got home, too."

"Ask him!" Peter orders before vanishing.

Remus's back hurts as he walks down the hall, a reminder that the full moon is coming up again. After the questions and their secret answers, he opens the door, and there stands Sirius. "How are they?" he asks.

Sirius enters and hangs up his cloak. "They're a mess," he says. "Still."

"Well, it's only been a week. You can't expect them to accept it immediately." He hasn't quite come to terms with it yet, himself. "But Dumbledore's helping them?"

"Yeah. He's got all the good ideas."

Remus wants to ask, "Like what?" But that makes him think of other questions, so he just nods and goes into the kitchen. There's nothing to do, but he starts cleaning the counter anyways. Water, wipe, repeat. He's done it twice today.

"It's already spotless," Sirius says from the doorway.

Remus drops the rag. "I know." Something ridiculously close to shame burns his cheeks. He wonders if Sirius sees him the way he sees himself—needy, obsessive, awkward. Throwing the rag in the sink, he leans on the damp counter and feels it slick under his palms. "So. They're a mess, but they're okay?"

"As much as they can be. The protective charms are going up tomorrow." Sirius comes to stand opposite him. "I think James is taking it harder than Lily. He doesn't like having to hide—doesn't know what it's like."

 _Neither do you,_ Remus almost says, but it's not true. Sirius comes from the House of Black; if anyone knows the value of lying low, it's him. He's got to keep reminding himself of that before he says something inexcusable. But these days remembering is difficult, with all the secrets in the air. "They're well protected," he points out. "Godric's Hollow isn't a bad spot."

"You know James," Sirius says. "It's only good if he can run around like a crazed animal. Now he's about to be under house arrest for who knows how long. Years, maybe." He gives Remus a funny look, somewhere between sympathy, guilt, and—fear? It passes in the blink of an eye. "Harry'll drive them mad, using that toy broom indoors."

They'd bought it in the last week of July, in a burst of inspiration. Remus remembers wrapping it up, like children themselves in their excitement, all the tension forgotten for a moment. "He's already broken one vase. Maybe he really will kill the cat this time." He smiles, and Sirius does too.

But then Sirius's face sags downward as if pulled by gravity. "Can you believe it?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

"What?"

"That—" Sirius seems to be fighting for control of his emotions, and Remus is shocked by the quick disintegration taking place before him. It's been a long time since either of them has cried in front of the other. "That anyone would do this," he says at last. "This prophecy is just—it's stupid, how can anyone want to kill a baby?" His face crumples and he turns away.

Remus watches his shoulders shake. "I don't know," he says at last. "It's terrible." He can't find the words for how deep his horror runs. His own eyes sting and he blinks. "At least they're alive."

Sirius twists around again, his face contorted with the effort of keeping calm. "Moony." There's something different in the way he says it. After a moment, though, he shakes his head. A massive sigh, and his face clears slightly.

They don't say more than ten words to each other for the rest of the evening. Supper, work, brushing their teeth, all in heavy silence. In bed, it crushes down on Remus like a living thing. He knows that beside him Sirius is also awake. They're probably both staring at the same point on the invisible ceiling. He inhales, words filling his mouth, and lets the breath out. And then—"What's wrong?"

Sirius's breathing stops and then starts up again. A long moment passes. "What?"

"I said, what's wrong?" The silence is growing heavier.

"Nothing," Sirius says, rolling over. His warmth doesn't quite reach across the space between them.

Talking with Peter, it had seemed stupid to ask, but now Remus finds that he wants to know, no matter what happens. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Sirius bites off the ends of the words, only to speak again in the blackness. "They made me Secret Keeper."

Remus has expected this; it doesn't make it easier. He closes his eyes, although the room is already too dark to see. _Secret Keeper._ A memory surfaces of sunlight and dust motes: seventh year, a lesson on Fidelius Charms. The secret can't be revealed through torture, but that has never stopped anyone from trying.

"Say something."

For all the turmoil inside him, Remus has trouble making a sound. "It's just… God, Sirius." Everything they say these days is already on the surface, so Remus has to poke and pry to see what's really going on—yet, illogically, he still believes that they'll get better. Still loves him. But putting that into words is a mountainous task. "I wish you weren't," is all he says.

Sirius is silent for so long that Remus thinks he's fallen asleep. "Me too."

Remus shifts on his side to look at him, but Sirius is still facing the wall. "Are you scared?" he asks.

"Of course not." He's snapping the edges of his voice into shards again. "Merlin, Remus, I'm trying to sleep."

"I'm only trying to h—"

"Well, stop trying!" Sirius wrenches his body to the very edge of the bed and then stands up. "Sorry," he says in a voice like an avalanche, "I just need some time."

Remus sits up while Sirius takes a blanket in the dark. Their rickety old bed is unbalanced with only him in it. "Is this the best way to do things?" he asks weakly.

Sirius is in the doorway. Remus can see his outline against the light from the hall. He looks stooped, an old man, under the weight of—what, exactly? He doesn't reply, and Remus blinks. By the time he opens his eyes the door is shut, and Sirius is already gone.


End file.
